


the devil himself is pushing my swing

by silenceinmolasses



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha Matthew, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Caring Matt, Consensual, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Fuck or be Mildly Inconvenienced, Kissing, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson at Columbia, OTP Feels, Omega Foggy Nelson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Self-Medication, now get ready for, you have heard of fuck or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 22:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: It was only a matter of time when the suppressants Foggy bought were nothing more but cooking oil and some dye in a sugar pill.





	the devil himself is pushing my swing

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Fyodor Sologub's poem "[Devil's Swing](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/devil-s-swing/)".

It was only a matter of time when the suppressants Foggy bought were nothing more but cooking oil and some dye in a sugar pill. He used to be quite successful before - his hands full of aces - so he assumes the signs of the upcoming heat are hot flashes due to stress. He happily plays dumb until the evening he wakes up from his nap all sweaty and weak. Foggy licks his lips, a dry swipe of his tongue, and tries to sit up. The places where his skin brushes the bedding feel sensitive and boiled. 

The last time he went through a heat was years ago. Sometimes the drugs he buys online don't work the way they are supposed to: there was one memorable month when Foggy caught chicken pox again. Now it is nothing but dirty water.

"Oh, shit," Foggy goes for annoyed but it comes out as a moan. His heats are intense and uncomfortable and they make his temperature go up.

They make him slick and empty.

Foggy whimpers dramatically, loud in the empty room, as his hands brush between his legs. It has been what? no more than a few hours? He is already so wet; Foggy can smell the thick, buttery scent of his slick.

He tries to remember how he can relieve himself apart from the obvious. Firstly, he need liquids. And a shower. And to try to pry off the ruined boxers off his ass.

Before he psyches himself to do any of those things, the doors unlock. Matt steps in, the expression on his face the same as when he tries not to show that something is bothering him very much. Foggy cuts to the chase.

"I'm sorry, Matty," he tries to smile, "open the window, perhaps?"

"Foggy," Matt's voice sounds strangled. He goes to open the window, though it is way too cold outside to leave it for a long time.

"I know you didn't sign up for taking care of an omega," Foggy's heart clenches at the idea. Matt pushes himself way too much as it is, he doesn't need his friend stinking up the place. 

"I signed up for helping a friend," Matt declares determinedly, snapping out of his haze, "whether you have a cold or you're in heat. For better or for worse."

"Till death do us part," it comes out more of a moan than Foggy intended.

"What can I help you with? You haven't had heats before," Matt comes closer to the bed. The line of his shoulders is tense.

"My suppressants didn't work," Foggy states. With an alpha towering over him, the alpha he feels safe with and who's strong and caring; Foggy's been kissed by Lady Luck that Matt can't hear his heart or that his nose isn't like a bloodhound's because Foggy gushes for him. His whole lower body twinkles on and off like Christmas lights. His hole feels sensitive.

Foggy would love to pretend it is all biology and any alpha would drive him crazy.

That's a lie.

"I'm sorry," Matt kneels near his head. There is acceptance and comfort in his voice, no pity or mockery for the stupid omega.

"When you're going on a rut, we're getting you proper meds. I will," Foggy grabs Matt's hand, squeezing it, "I will take up some work in the shop, I will help you pay for it all," he breathes deeply. His nose catches a musky, salty tang of Matt's sweat and only by the skin of his teeth does he avoid bringing Matt's fingers to his mouth.

"I'm sorry for grabbing you," he says too late, letting go.

"I know you would help me. You always do," Matt looks conflicted. The glasses do not let Foggy see his full face. 

Foggy spends the evening listening to the comforting hum of Matt's audiobook and trying not to think about the slick coating the insides of his thighs.

The next morning it becomes apparent that if Foggy thought he would simply count down the remaining days he was solely mistaken.

It is so easy to... forget. He's got used to not having heats; as simply as that. He's forgotten how much misery it brings him. How it makes him docile.

"Maybe, painkillers? I can get you painkillers? Doesn't matter... I'll bring you whatever you need," Matt's urgent whispering washes over Foggy like a warm steam of water.

"I'm not in pain, Matty, I'm horny," he tries for nonchalant but his voice catches. He hopes Matt did not hear him masturbating at night; all those six times he stroked his cock and stuffed himself with his fingers. Unsurprisingly, it is not orgasms he needs.

"There must be something I could do," Matt huffs indignantly. And then he freezes. Oops, better not open that can of worms.

"You're doing so much for me already," and he does. Matt brings him water, and he helps him clean up, and lends Foggy his hoodie, he is such a good, irreplaceable alpha. Best Friend. Best friend who happens to be an alpha.

"Foggy," Matt says slower, clearer. It is an inch away from a being a growl. Or a command.

"Yup, still here," Foggy nuzzles into his pillow. The smell of his slick, so warm and nutty, permeates the whole room. When Foggy suggested opening the window, Matt straight up refused, saying it was too cold and Foggy felt too feverish. Though it is not the kind of fever that one can simply sweat out, Foggy is still grateful. Matt is trying so hard and he genuinely cares for Foggy in these trying times.

Foggy will buy him dinner in return. All the dinners.

"I can... Perhaps..." Matt's voice drops. He inhales deeply and then clenches his fists. The smell must be really bothering him, "Would my fingers help, Foggy. Let me help you."

It is only the second day and Foggy is so tired. Desire whips at him, sharp and hot, with something sweet and fragile underneath.

"This is not your fault, Matty."

Foggy doesn't want anything else if it means it is done only for his heat's sake.

He barely falls asleep, his fingers wet, Matt standing vigil over him.

On the third day everything is over. Well, not really, Foggy is not dying or anything, but his body presses him down. He is dry in his wetness and cold in the heat. It is not worth to take temperature as water turns to dust on his tongue. It has been years since he saw the sun.

Literally.

It has been raining for days, a rhythmic patter on the window glass helping him pretend he can use it as a lullaby before sleep.

His hands and his dick and the muscles in his thighs are sore. Coming doesn't help for shit, doesn't relieve the achy emptiness in his guts.

Matt... Matty protects him. Though Foggy has no appetite (he hungers to be fucked), he brings him bread, and, after Foggy pushes it away after a few bites, he brings him fruit.

Whenever Foggy turns his head to the side, he inhales Matt in his hair. It makes it both harder ( _hah_ ) and easier.

When the setting sun throws itself against the glass as if it still radiates light and Foggy stops responding to Matt's set-ups to make shitty puns, his BFF shots out of the room. Foggy tries to fall asleep and not feel too lonely.

Matt barges back into the room, his breath fast.

"Here," he drops a package on the bed, "let's just... keep this in mind. An open option."

Foggy brings the package closer to his eyes. Birth control. The fancy kind, barely any side effects. His body tries to flush as he stares stupidly.

"Where did you get it? Did you steal it? Stealing is wrong, Matty," he tries to sit up. He doesn't remember whether the third day is when his heat reaches his peak or only when it only truly begins.

"I didn't steal it," Matt passes him a bottle of water. Foggy's hands shake so Matt helps him drink. After he is satisfied, Matt gently pushes him down.

Foggy moans. He tries to mask it as cough but he knows it is a lost cause. His legs are spread, he can see wet spots on his sweats. His erection makes a tent in front. He thinks he snoozes off for a moment or two.

Foggy wakes up shivering. Disoriented he thinks he is coming but no, it's just his fever going up. It feels good, somehow, his hormones are wrecked, begging his body to be filled.

Foggy groans, half pain, half annoyance, and pats the bed in search of a duvet.

His body should finally get the memo that there is no one to knot him. There is... 

He is in a beautiful friendship that he will never give way. Nothing else could possibly compare. And it so  _unfair_ to Matt to be stuck with a greedy Foggy.

"Fog? Are you crying?" Matt is close to him, his cool hand wiping the sweat of Foggy's cheeks.

"Nope," he murmurs, his voice raspy.

"Foggy... listen to me," Matt sits down on the bed. He's not wearing his glasses, determination etched into every line of his gorgeous face. 

"Always," Foggy nods dutifully. His mouth feels too dry, though his lips are copious with spit.

"Your body temperature is too high and it's not breaking," Foggy nods again, though he doesn't remember the last time he held a thermometer.

Matt takes his slippery hand and holds it tight. His thumb rubs circles into Foggy's palm which breaks into goosebumps.

"You might need a hospital but if you," Matt squeezes his hand, "I know you don't want me but I can help you, I will make it good for you. Just... think abut it."

Foggy's eyebrows scrunch.

"What? No," Matt visibly deflates and stands up but Foggy doesn't let go of his hand. His head throbs a bit, just like his dick, but he doesn't tend to be completely out of it during his heats. So he lifts his head, holding himself up on his elbows.

He definitely heard it correctly. And if there is anything wrong in their relationship, it is this.

"I always want you," his voice is low. Matt is frozen.

"But your heart... you never said anything. I would never take advantage of your heat," he urgently says. He is close, his breath on Foggy's face is hot. He can smell him too: sharp, earthy, deep.

"You're my best friend. I love you when I'm in heat, I love you when I'm not," Foggy shrugs.

Though he probably does not look all that nonchalant with slick seeping out of him every time Matt speaks.

Matt freezes again.

"It doesn't really matter," Foggy tries to smile, "You don't have to do anything just because you're an alpha. I will just... sweat it out," he sits up to take a towel, probably, to clean himself up but Matt pushes him down, hard. Foggy has no time to think about the alpha holding him down before Matt is kissing him. The heat is shocking, electrifying. Matt insistently slides his lips on Foggy's, nibbling his Cupid's bow. Foggy's mouth opens but he breaks the kiss before anything else happens.

"I love you too, so much," Matt whispers, planting pecks around Foggy's mouth, "I can't stand seeing you suffer when I can do something. Let me, can I knot you?" he stops, breathing raggedly.

Foggy's cock is rock hard in his sweats. He feels as if there is buzzing right beneath his skin. He is content and a bit confused: happy out of his mind. He whimpers and kisses Matt who lets him, his mouth relaxed. They make out, not that forcefully, almost gently. 

"Foggy, talk to me, y-you have to tell me."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. You're the one who brought birth control, what did you think my answer's gonna be?"

"I hoped," there are dark notes in Matt's voice behind the laugh and lust. He kisses Foggy's neck, a dry, slow press of lips right above the place where bonding bites are usually exchanged. Foggy shivers.

Matt leaves the bed, flushed, not as much smirking as showing teeth. His hands on the nape of Foggy's neck are familiar and gentle. Foggy takes a pill, lets him pull his head back, and drinks from the cup. The water is lukewarm; the medicine is tasteless. He sighs. He feels like his body will never be satisfied.

"I feel like meat in a butcher's shop. You know, those cow carcasses hanging from the hooks?" Foggy lies down again. His hair and his sheets are sweaty.

Matt snorts, lying on top of him, his thigh a solid weight in between Foggy's legs. Matt moans and buries his face in Foggy's shoulder.The hard line of his cock digs into Foggy's thighs. He must feel how slick the omega is.

"I'm gonna..." Foggy whines, the muscles in his ass and thighs clenching.

"Yeah," there is a hint of teeth when Matt kisses his mouth and Foggy comes, unsatisfactorily. At most, his brain manages to spew a residue of oxytocin; he just adds to the mess in his boxers.

"I'm usually not that fast," Foggy exhales. His t-shirt sticks to his skin. Matt lets him catch his breath for a second and crawls to the end of the bed. Some rustle of clothing and Foggy lifts his head to see Matt slowly jerking off. He looks concentrated, his fingers rubbing the dark rosy head of his thick cock. The muscles in his abdomen jump when Foggy moans.

"Shit, Matty," he spreads his legs, making space for Matt to come closer. He is so wet Foggy swears his body by now is a slippery, sweet-smelling mass, empty where it matters, waiting for Matt to fill it. 

Matt takes off his T-shirt and throws it on the ground. His skin is glowing, the muscles sharp, his happy-trail dark and wet with pre-cum. And his attention, all the tension, the passion coiled inside of him - all of it directed at Foggy. Matt flexes (now he is just showing off) as crawls up Foggy's body, pushing his pajama top up.

"I meant to ask you," he writhes out of the clothing, his hands splayed over Matt's skin. He feels hot. Their lips meet, then Matt licks into his mouth, insistently thrusts his tongue in. He groans when Foggy sucks on the tip of it.

"Yeah," Matt answers; it doesn't sound like an inquiry. It's an agreement, a supplication. 

"You can smell my slick, right? It certainly doesn't annoy you, lucky us,  _ah_ -," Matt's stubble feels rough as he licks over Foggy's nipple, his fingers gripping Foggy's sides, "what does it smell like to your alpha nose?" To Foggy it is almost overpowering, sticky and tickling.

Matt hums. Then it seems he forgets the question, removing Foggy's soaked sleep pants, face intent and purposeful like he's handling cutlery before digging into the juiciest stake.

 _Well, that's an idea_.

"Matty? Matt," Foggy pokes him in the ribs. Suddenly, it seems very important.

"Fog, you've been driving me crazy this whole time," there are dark notes in his voice like woods whispering at night. He smiles; a wide, happy smile, "you smell like mine."

He doesn't give Foggy time to reply before fingers spread his ass and Matt lowers his head.

"Matt," it sounds a mixture of laughter and groaning, a quick, colorful burst of air, before Foggy loudly, helplessly moans, his lower body on fire. Matt licks again, a wide, wet swipe over Foggy's hole.

"You're sweet," he hears, before the tip of Matt's exquisite tongue slips in. Foggy's body is loose; the nerves in his back rigid, ready to snap and leak out together with his slick. It's a bit embarrassing; how ready the omega is, how needy. 

"You smell so good," Matt lifts his head, staring above Foggy's left shoulder. His mouth is wet, the moisture drips over his chin, it is smeared over his cheeks. Foggy thinks there is some in his hair. Matt... as good as marked himself. He looks half crazed and Foggy's too distracted to realize he's coming again, Matt's fingers curled inside him.

Foggy thinks the orgasm just made his head hurt more.

"Matty," he almost begs and Matt's face softens. 

"I will make it better, Fog," they kiss lazily until Foggy's hard again. Matt's dick is a big, eager line, digging into the meat of Foggy's ass. Matt pulls him closer; Foggy does not realize immediately that the alpha is inside him, that he just slipped inside.

He can feel it pulsing inside him. Foggy relaxes into the sheets. His lips on Matt's face are soft, tender. Matt is trembling beneath his hands. He exhales and starts moving, driving into Foggy's body again and again. The rhythm is steady, hypnotic.

"Better?" Matt's voice is intimate, almost light.

"Yeah, you fucked the fever out of me," Foggy rolls his hips, chuckling.

It's a bit embarrassing how peaceful his body suddenly becomes when it feels the beginning of the alpha's knot swelling inside. But it's okay - Matt is panting on top of him and, as Foggy kisses his hairline, his lips tingle with alpha's sweat.

"C'mere," Matt stops, his cock hard, rubbing against all the nerves in Foggy that are screaming. Matt effortlessly lifts him, kissing the yelp out of Foggy's mouth. Foggy can feel him deeper, can feel himself sinking onto the hard length, that's how slippery he still is.

Matt groans loudly, jaggedly.

He pushes his hips up, grinding his dick into Foggy's prostrate. The inflamed tissue of his knot sinks into him and slips out again. Foggy grips Matt's shoulders, moving with him. His next orgasm is punched out of him, almost painfully.

Foggy whines softly. Matt is holding him, clutching his sweaty body to his own hard frame. He keeps kissing Foggy, his cheek and his forehead, accidentally pulling hair strands as they stick to his mouth. Matt's lips keep wandering down his neck, brushing over the unmarked area near Foggy's shoulder. Foggy grasps the alpha's back, muscles shifting like hot chocolate, rolling his hips, panting. His fingers find Matt's neck, tries to smooth the thick mess of his hair, then pressing down, mirroring the insistent weight on his own neck. Matt's unmarked; well, he was before Foggy's nails slip, reddening the skin underneath. 

"My best friend," Matt's thrusts speed up as he whispers almost dreamily, "my omega," Matt's knot slips inside of Foggy, filling him up. The stretch would be painful if his hole wasn't so sloppy but now it feels really good, "my Foggy," Matt's lips press hard against his neck and he comes, pleasure wrecking his body. Foggy groans at the influx of wet heat inside him.

Matt slowly lowers him back on the bed. Foggy falls like a sack of potatoes would after having the best sex of their life. He is sure there is a hickey on his bonding spot. His hole throbs to the beat of his heart, the knot's a hard, hot stretch which effectively comforts him. The sweet scent of his slick is mixed with their sweat and something earthly.

"Matty," Foggy spreads his arms for a hug. Matt beams at him, sated.

"Water first, cuddles later," he pats Foggy's belly, trying to maneuver their bodies so he can reach the night stand.

"No, sex again and then food," Foggy can't really shift closer, the knot barely letting him move. Matt grasps his thighs, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it only aggravates the pull between them and Matt falls on him.

"This is not what the nuns said knotting would be like," Matt lifts up on his elbows, holding himself above Foggy with no problem. His cock thickens inside his omega.

"Whacha mean?" he snorts. Matt's eyes pretty accurately find his neck.

"I didn't mean to act as if... like my wanting to bond with you has anything to do with your heat," his voice is quieter.

"I know," Foggy relaxes, his dick filling up as Matt rolls his hips, "I'm sorry too. Didn't mean to scratch you like a cat."

Matt snickers. They kiss again.

"You will never again be alone during heats," he properly grinds against Foggy, his knot hard and his cock harder.

Foggy's breath catches, the words "Matt" and "alpha" and "yes" thick and sweet in his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Foggy totally smells like browned butter.


End file.
